Bridesmaid Bootcamp.
There are two very significant and unforgettable life experiences that touch the majority of young women in America.
- Gaining weight/losing weight/gaining the weight back.
- Being asked to wear a bridesmaid dress.
To make matters worse, these two sticky situations often meet each other face-to-face.
After exhausting a wide array of book subjects and on the brink of scalping myself from indecisive-filled frustration, I’m finally moving forward to engage in an electronic love affair with my laptop. The literature will be composed for the girl who has found herself, probably more than once, in a wedding party lineup as the self-proclaimed “chunky girl.” And, show her how to break the cycle of overweight maid madness.
Here is an outline snippet from the-single-biggest-project-of-my-life:
The very first thing that ran through her mind after she processed the words, “Will you be a bridesmaid?” — even before registering the financial & time investment that comes with the verbal commitment, is “For the love of all things sacred… God help me, I have to wear a bridesmaid dress.” Some have even joked that the fundamental purpose of notoriously painful BM dresses is to make the fairy princess stand out even more.
But she happily sported a smile, graciously accepted the honor of being selected to intimately celebrate with the bride-to-be, and swallowed her big booty pride.
This book takes a witty and lighthearted look at the journey of a semi-professional bridesmaid, through the eyes of a nine times over “always the bridesmaid, never the bride” and how she [eventually] leveraged the dreaded cookie cutter “one dress does not fit all” tornado of taffeta to her advantage. Having seen one too many framed group photos on fireplace mantels that made her plump ego cringe, she once and for all made a decision to no longer accept the staple full-figured role and literally sweat her ass off.
Operation: Bridesmaid Bootcamp.
Beginning at the age of 12, until the age of 30, she chronicles 18 years of ill-fitted, standard-issue frock purgatory. This elusive place, where she isn’t quite in heaven due to overpriced, unflattering fabric never to be worn again, but isn’t quite in hell either due to the overwhelming happiness for loved ones turned engaged couples, very much exemplifies her lace and tulle frequent flyer miles.
For the first several weddings during naive teenage years and a functioning metabolism, the experience was delicious and the gratitude of being chosen to stand front and center next to the stunning lady in white remained palpable.
Then as she grew older, a destructive relationship between frenemies began — the refrigerator & the scale. All the while, she started to notice very fine lines forming on her fair-skinned face. And had yet to understand what it felt like to have a man get down on his knees and effortlessly sweep her over the threshold (not that he could if he tried). The closest she had ever gotten to sporting a sparkly stone was trying on the engagement rings of fiancee friends for a solid 10 minutes while enviously sipping vodka sodas.
So she ultimately figured out—if you can’t beat them, nor seem to join them, at least look better than them [excluding the bride…of course].
